


late nights.

by chai_and_coffee



Series: the tumblr alchemist [1]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Royai - Freeform, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Tumblr Prompt, almei, edwin - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-08
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-11-27 10:50:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20947130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chai_and_coffee/pseuds/chai_and_coffee
Summary: Some nights, it’s bad.Those are the nights when Winry wakes up to an empty bed, the mattress leaving no indication that its master had even slept there. She swipes a hand across the sheets and the coolness she finds confirms her suspicions: he hasn’t been in bed for a while.It’s routine for her to push herself up off the bed, even as the siren call of sleep rings out. He’s much, much more important than sleep.She doesn’t flinch when her feet hit the cold tile, toes curling at the unexpected temperature.From there, she follows the thin ray of light slipping through the cracks, and pushes open the kitchen door.Her husband, Edward Elric is there, hands curled tightly around the edge of the counter, head bowed down to an invisible force. He is not leaning casually: his posture is curled inwards, one of a defeated man.It must have been the nightmares again.-For the prompt from: @automail-freak-and-alchemy-freak: "I’d love to see some Edwin hurt/comfort :)" on tumblr!





	late nights.

Some nights, it’s bad. 

Those are the nights when Winry wakes up to an empty bed, the mattress leaving no indication that its master had even slept there. She swipes a hand across the sheets and the coolness she finds confirms her suspicions: he hasn’t been in bed for a while. 

It’s routine for her to push herself up off the bed, even as the siren call of sleep rings out. He’s much, much more important than sleep. 

She’s grown accustomed to this, so much that she knows to skip over the fourth step, which creaks, to skirt around the second bannister because it’s right over Al and Mei’s room. Her husband would not want an audience. 

She doesn’t flinch when her feet hit the cold tile, toes curling at the unexpected temperature. 

From there, she follows the thin ray of light slipping through the cracks, and pushes open the kitchen door.

Her husband, Edward Elric is there, hands curled tightly around the edge of the counter, head bowed down to an invisible force. He is not leaning casually: his posture is curled inwards, one of a defeated man. 

It must have been the nightmares again. 

Winry is careful to not make a sound as she slowly makes her way behind him, and when she’s close enough, she wraps her arms around him, burying her face in his back. 

She can feel him tense for a moment, going rigid, before realizing that it’s her, and relaxing. The tension isn’t fully out of his body, but it’s a work in progress. 

“Winry,” And she can hear the chiding tone in his voice. “What are you doing up?”

She laughs, the sound thankfully muffled in the spot between his shoulder blades. “I think that’s my question, mister.” She hums, her hands slipping from the spot in his waist to snake down his arms and rest gently on his clenched hands. Her hands run over the rivulets of his knuckles, and a slight peek over his shoulder is confirmation enough. His knuckles are bone white, strained and tense with emotion she’s not privy to. 

He doesn’t respond to the question turned back to him: she doesn’t expect him to. He’ll tell her when he’s good and ready. A gentle squeeze of his hands leaves him pliable: he relinquishes his stranglehold on the granite counter. After a heartbeat, he turns, facing her and leaning into the countertop. 

“Go back to sleep.” Ed murmurs, a bit more insistently, fingers gently tucking a piece of her blonde hair behind her ear. He’s using his soft voice, the one that’s quiet and all feeling, and just for her. It’s a sharp contrast to his usual tones, considering he ranges from high pitched angry shrieking to flat quips of sarcasm. 

“Not a chance.” She hums cheerfully, and she can see his eyes narrow in exasperation, which, in turn makes her more amused. “Shall we have some tea?” 

“Not thirsty.” He grumbles, and it seems as though he’s hellbent on making this harder on her. She rewards him with a pinch to his ribs, making him yelp and scowl immediately. 

“Now, what was that for?” He huffs, clearly offended by her action, his hands pulling her smaller ones to the relative safety of his chest, where she cannot attack him anymore. 

Despite her earlier action, she smiles sweetly. “We’re going to have tea.” 

His chin rests on her head, and the gentle exhale she hears is an admission of defeat. He knows damn well that she’s quite persistent, and till date, hasn’t let him get away with hiding anything. 

But this isn’t the time to pressure him into talking, this is just the preliminary steps. Just as she did all the other nights, Winry takes a step forward, melting into his arms. His heartbeat is a soft and steady sound, her personal lullaby. The familiar scent of mint surrounds her, and she allows herself a few moments before breaking away to make his tea.

The expression of hurt on his face is too cute to resist, so she leans up and brushes her lips against his in a chaste kiss before turning to the stovetop, gliding across the kitchen, soundlessly opening cabinets and pulling out things that she needed for his tea. His tastes are a bit eccentric, but she finds that she doesn’t mind it at all: making a warm drink for him has long been a source of comfort for her. 

Of course, it wasn’t always this way. She wasn’t the best with talking and discussion, she preferred fixing her problems quite manually. Emotional scars and trauma weren’t foreign to her, but solving them was a different world. 

She remembers the first night quite vividly, the first night when she had found that her husband wasn’t sleeping all too well. There had been a lot of crying and anguished pleading on her end, and by the time Ed had drifted off to sleep, she had been alert and awake, feeling quite lost. The blonde had jumped for the phone, disregarding the fact that it was two in the morning. 

_“Hello?” Riza Hawkeye’s soft, tired voice had rung through the phone, and even though they had been cities apart, Winry distinctly remembers how the tension had seeped out of her shoulder. _

_“Miss Hawkeye,” Winry’s voice had been bordering on hysterical. “There’s a problem.”_

_“What’s going on, Winry?” The older woman’s voice had been more alert but still maintaining the calm tone. She had heard the click of a light turning on in the back. _

_“I mean—we’re not in danger or anything, Ed and I are fine—I mean, not fine, because Ed’s not fine—“ She had stammered, before managing to choke out what was keeping her up. “Ed’s not sleeping well, and I’m not sure what to do. I think it’s nightmares.”_

_There had been a moment of silence from the other end. “Winry, dear,” Miss Hawkeye had murmured, voice considerably calmer. “It’s okay not to know what to do. We’re here now.” _

_A deeper, more masculine voice had filled her ear. “Winry, do you know what’s keeping him up? Did he talk to you about anything?” Roy Mustang had questioned, his voice soft in the night. _

_“He didn’t want to open up.” She had answered, a bit exasperatedly. _

_“That’s okay. Maybe he didn’t want to re-live what he had just seen so soon. Maybe he thinks that you shouldn’t be dragged in. Needless to say, the first step is in getting him to open up to you. It’s unhealthy to keep this under-wraps.” Mustang had said gently. _

_“Getting soft in your old age, are you old man?” Hawkeye had teased, and Winry had heard an unintelligible from the man. _

_“Just work with him, Winry. The pipsqueak is just as human as the rest of us. Maybe he needs a hug. Maybe he needs a few moments to collect himself before talking about it.” Mustang had said reassuringly, ignoring the jibe that his subordinate had just shot at him._

_“He’s right. I know the Colonel enjoys sipping some tea and then some warmth after a bad night.” The statement had been laced with such affection that Winry had felt a pang, missing her husband who was one room over. _

_She had imagined the stern Lieutenant taking her partner into her arms, hands gently stroking the dark hair back. She hoped that she and Ed would be the same, Mustang and Hawkeye’s relationship was something that was never questioned, always known. _

_“The Lieutenant enjoys dozing around in the living room and watching some sitcom until she’s ready to talk.” The man had murmured, neatly piggybacking on his lover’s statement. _

_The image of a sleepy Miss Hawkeye curled on top of a tired Colonel was one that had warmed her heart. She wouldn’t voice it out for fear of crossing a boundary, but she was absolutely glad that the two childhood lovers had found their way back to one another. _

_The two had soothed her, and spent the rest of the time coming up with a plan of action for the next time, and by the end of the night, Winry had felt quite reassured and understood, almost as though her parents were still looking out for her. And in a way, they were. _

A grin takes shape on her lips as she recounts the fond memory: both Mustang and Hawkeye were easily the most influential figures in her life, and she owed everything from her tea recipe to her calm disposition to them. 

Ed, for his part, sank down onto one of the chairs by the counter. Propping his head on his arms, he watched her carefully, the dark circles illuminated by the warm glow of the lights. 

Winry’s careful to keep her “cooking” to a minimum. She’d rather not deal with too many dishes in the morning. Or, she could always make the boys do it: that seemed like a far better alternative. 

It isn’t long before the scents of apple and cinnamon are in the air, and the steaming beverage is neatly poured into the awaiting cup. The steam rising swirls upwards in delicate wisps, wisps that are soon disrupted as she gently blows across the surface of the liquid to cool it. Apple cinnamon wasn’t the traditional flavor of a hot drink, but Winry knew that her apple pie was a source of comfort for her husband, and the similar notes in the desert and beverage put him at ease. 

She makes her way to him, dropping a hand on his shoulder to get his attention. He takes the cup from her thankfully, allowing the warmth to seep into his calloused hands. 

There is nothing but fondness in her expression as she gazes at him, and her thumb moves of its own accord, sweeping gentle arcs. He can feel the cool metal band of her ring through the thin fabric of his shirt, and pauses in his sip to drop a gentle kiss against her thumb. The action tugs a smile at her lips, and her fingers move to gently sift through the strands of his light hair as he drains the scalding liquid from its container. 

“Done,” he announces, presenting the empty mug as though it’s some kind of achievement. 

“We’re really progressing with your choices of drinks. Maybe in some time, you’ll drink milk like that.” She teases. 

His look is grave. “Never.” He promises solemnly, his face slightly scrunching up at the thought of the dairy product. 

She relents, taking his hand and tugging him away from the kitchen and to the living room. “Alright, alright, milk boy.”

“Milk boy?!” He sputters, almost in indignation. 

She doesn’t give that comment a response. Rather, she slips her hand into his, lacing their fingers tightly, and tugs him off the seat. The journey from the kitchen to the living room is short, and soon she’s yanking him down onto the couch, her hand never leaving his. 

“We should go back to bed.” Ed hums, but makes no move to get up from where he’s seated next to her. After a second, almost like an afterthought, he leans into her, his face pressing against her shoulder. 

“Hold on,” Winry murmurs, adjusting herself so he’s practically laying on top of her, but in a pose that’s more comfortable for him and her. She can feel the desperation in how he clings to her, and not for the first time, she wonders what demons haunt her husband. 

For now, she keeps quiet, knowing that he’ll soon tell her. Instead, she busies herself with his hair, tied in the low, loose ponytail that has long been associated with him. Her fingers nimbly slip the tie from its place, allowing his blond strands to spill over onto her fingers. Illuminated by the stray beams of light peeking inside from the windows, his hair is less of a blonde and more of a celestial silver. Like an expert, she runs her nails along his scalp, hearing his hiss of contentment. 

“Good?” She asks, and the sleepy murmur of assent from her husband encourages her. She massages his head, fingers swirling around his temples. When she’s sure that he’s completely relaxed in her grasp, she makes her first move to broach the subject. 

“Ed?”

“Hm?”

“What made you wake up?” She winces slightly at the lack of tact, but the lack of closing off from her partner leads her to believe that it’s a step in the right direction. 

She can feel the soft, steady breaths hitting the side of her neck turn into rough, ragged ones. Winry rubs his back in comfort, not pressing anymore. He heard her, he’ll answer on his volition. 

“Win, do you…do you ever think you’re unfit to be a parent?” He asks, and she’s taken aback slightly. That wasn’t the answer she was expecting, but she’d take it. 

“Sometimes.” She admits. “But I think we’re going to have a lot of help, so we’ll be okay. Why, do you?”

“Sometimes. A lot of the time, really. I just…my father, he wasn’t the best dad. You know this. I don’t want to be the same man, you know? I don’t think I can handle it. Kids are meant to be happy and carefree with two loving parents, and I don’t want to turn my back on them, ever. And I know that I’ll protect them with my entire life, but what if it does come to that?” Edward asks, and she knows that he’s thinking of Mr.Hughes and Elicia. 

She doesn’t speak. He needs to get everything out—she’d direct and assuage his fears little-by-little once they’re out in the open. 

“It was bad, Winry.” He shudders. “Everyone was—gone. You—I couldn’t make it to you and the kids in time. They killed you, Winry, right before my eyes. I didn’t even have a chance to meet my kids.” His arms wrap around her a bit tighter. 

“Hawkeye—they slit her throat again, and Mustang—after he saw her go down, he wasn’t responsive. I called out for him, Win, I called out, but the bastard wouldn’t respond, he just—stared, lifeless and glassy, and _dead_.” He whispers the last word as though it’s a taboo, but he’s far from over from recounting his nightmares. 

“Alphonse’s body is gone, Mei’s lying dead on the ground—and I’m the only one left. All around me, there’s so much bloodshed, and I’m the only one alive, and I can’t help but feel that I’m the one who caused it, the one who ruined so many lives.” She can feel the moisture of his tears against the bare skin of her neck and decides to step in, easing her husband away from his misconstrued conceptions. 

“Oh, Edward,” She hums, crushing her lips to his temple. “I’m here. I’m here, safe and alive, and our kids are safe and in the future, where they belong. They’re okay. Mei and Alphonse are in the room above us, tired and sleeping. You know they’re going to bug you about going out to the town market tomorrow, and like usual, you’re going to pretend like you don’t want to go. Mustang and Hawkeye are probably sleeping, with the Colonel snoring like a loud bear. They’re okay too, sweetheart.” She soothes, going down the list of people he saw. The first step was to ground the other person, Hawkeye had reminded her. 

“You silly, silly man. You are not the cause of bloodshed, you are not the cause of pain and suffering. You are easily the greatest gift the world has ever received. You’re a man who puts the world in front of him no matter what, even if the cos is his life, and the world is eternally grateful. You are the savior of our world, my love. You’ve restored hope and peace to so many people, and you still continue to do so. You’re not a bad person, Edward, and I just might have to smack you if I hear those words again.” She says, throwing a little joke to ease him up. 

It works. He chokes out a soft, teary laugh that makes her heart break and cajoles her to kiss his temple again. 

“For a man who’s saved the world, you really doubt your punctuality, huh?” She continues, voice light. “I assure you, dear, as long as you are here, I have no doubt that our family will be safe and protected. You’ll always come for us, and of this, I have no doubt. Of course, that being said, if this means that you’ll actually wake up at a decent time, I have no complaints.”

“One PM is a perfectly acceptable time.”

“It’s not, and you know it, you freak.” 

“Oh, shut up, gearhead.” He grumbles, and she’s quite pleased. He’s regaining his usual self. Maybe the boost of confidence was all he needed—she’d have to keep that in mind. 

“As for me leaving, you’d be out of your mind. No matter how many times you drive me crazy by trashing my automail, being a grumpy man at such a young age, you’re mine, and you’ll always be. There’s a reason I said yes, Edward, and the ring was most definitely not it.” She teases, watching him perk up in outrage. 

“What’s wrong with the ring?!” He grumbles, eyes steadily meeting hers. 

“Oh, I love it. I never said that there was anything wrong.” She grins, and he rolls his eyes in response to her snark. She reaches out, the pad of her thumb catching the remnants of his tears. 

His response is to lift her hand to his lips, kissing where the metal band rests, before leaning forward and capturing her lips in a soft kiss. 

“I love you,” He whispers reverently. 

“I would too.” She grins, before yelping when he dances his fingers along her side in a tickle. “Fine, fine! I love you two.” 

The couple exchanges a few more words of their affection as they wind down for the night, Edward set at ease. The rest of their night is smooth and continuous, and both enjoy a restful slumber. 

In the morning, Alphonse is sure to tuck a blanket around the sleeping forms of Winry and his brother, and doesn’t do anything to stop his giggling wife from taking pictures. 

**Author's Note:**

> hello, hello! hope you all enjoyed! comments inspire me to write, and drop a kudos if you enjoyed!
> 
> my inbox is currently open, and i am accepting requests! you can check it out at my tumblr, @chai-and-coffee.


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